


Cold Hands

by lionessvalenti



Category: Hair - MacDermot/Rado/Ragni
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Community: kink_bingo, F/M, Multi, Recreational Drug Use, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-05
Updated: 2011-05-05
Packaged: 2017-10-19 00:45:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/195031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lionessvalenti/pseuds/lionessvalenti
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five short drug induced scenes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cold Hands

1.

Claude closed his eyes, his head cradled in Sheila's lap and a joint pressed into his hand. He didn't know where it had come from, it had appeared like magic. He took a hit and opened his eyes to watch the smoke curl in long tendrils, like ribbons twisting around the in the air, the air that was thick with incense and the smell of Sheila's patchouli oil from her wrists and behind her ears.

There was a cold hand against his and Claude started, blinking down at Jeanie. She grinned up at him and pressed her ear to his stomach. "I can hear your guts."

Claude laughed and looked across the room at Berger, grinning lazily. Berger stared at him until Claude stuck out his tongue and they both started laughing.

2.

It was cold for spring and Sheila was wearing her sweater and socks in bed, but her legs were bare beneath the woolly blanket. Berger's hands were cold against her thighs, but his mouth was hot to her cunt. He licked upward and rubbed his tongue hard against her clit until cried out, grabbing for his hair.

Sheila never wanted to leave the bed. She wanted to live there, holed up in her cocoon. She wanted Berger to crawl inside her, to keep him safe, to protect him, to birth her own lover like she was goddess. She wanted to create her own surroundings, her own family. She wanted life to spring from the tips of her fingers and her joy and pleasure from Berger's tongue to spread out across the world and heal their wounds, and save lives and make people smile again, and remember why peace is so important.

And when she came, she pulled Berger's hair and silently blessed the first person to ever get high off a wild mushroom, and the thanked the universe for LSD.

Berger's face appeared next to hers, with his dilated pupils and carefree grin. She touched his cheek, feeling the stubble beneath her fingers, and she kissed him, tasting herself on his lips.

"I'm so fuckin' high," he said.

"You're so fuckin' beautiful," she replied, and kissed him again.

3.

"I wish my pubes weren't so curly," Berger said as Claude handed him the joint. He took a hit and paused to hold in the smoke before he exhaled. "I want them to be longer. I want a beard for my dick."

"Pubes down to your ankles?" Claude asked. He wished he had his gloves as he rubbed his hands together. He breathed on them, the short burst of warmth only lasting an instant.

Berger grinned. "Yeah! You could stick your hands in my pubes. I'll keep them warm."

"Oh man," Claude said, slipping into his favored English accent. "I don't know what you're on, but I like it."

Handing Claude the joint, Berger replied, "I can get you some."

4.

Claude painted Sheila's toenails because Berger refused to do it, and she could do it herself, but he offered. Despite the howling wind outside and the rain pounding against the windows, with their candles lit, it was cozy and comfortable.

Berger plopped down next to Claude, and when Claude went to turn to him, he knocked over the bottle and yellow nail polish spilled across the floor.

"Shit," Claude muttered and looked around for a towel or an old shirt.

"It's fine," Berger said. He reached around and ran his fingers through the wet polish, spreading it further. Sheila sat up and joined him, tracing yellow spirals across the floor.

Claude grinned, despite his accident and reached his hand in to paint the sun. They laughed as the fumes got them high, and Berger leaned over to kiss Claude's face, and Sheila followed him, like they could kiss every part of him. Claude smiled, feeling content, and his worries washed away in the storm.

And after the the varnish had dried on their skin, it chipped and shattered like ice when they bent their fingers.

5.

Berger couldn't even look at it, and Sheila couldn't blame him. But as she stared at Claude's name engraved in stone, she felt suddenly distant. Maybe Berger was right. Maybe they shouldn't look at it. Maybe the cold stone would seep into their bodies and live in them, like a hardened layer beneath their skin, carrying Claude with them heavy, not feather-light and beautiful as he should be.

Berger lit up a joint, and offered Sheila the first hit.

As she took it between her fingers, it began to snow.


End file.
